


The Transient

by MoonlitWaterSunnyRiver



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003), Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, Death, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsessive Behavior, Terminal Illnesses, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitWaterSunnyRiver/pseuds/MoonlitWaterSunnyRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm just passing through." "So am I." Alfons doesn't know what to think of Edward - god, man, angel or devil - but he knows he's addicted. EdHei, pre-CoS, slight AU here and there. Written in less than 24 hours for Day 3 of FMA Week 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Transient

**Author's Note:**

> EdHei speedfic for Day 3 of FMA Week 2015! Day 3 was The Promised Day/The Parallel World/War, and I chose to do something on the parallel world. It...got kinda sad. Really sad. And kind of unsettling, too.
> 
>  
> 
> TW: death, sickness, blood, unreality/dissociation, unhealthy adoration/idolization, inconclusiveness.

 

~1~

_home_

Alfons knew that, for whatever reason, he reminded Ed of something. He could see it in the way Ed glanced away from him, the way the comments about 'how _alike_ you two look, you could be _brothers'_ made him flinch, the care with which he told his stories. He wasn't a fool. He could put the pieces together.

He would leave it alone, for now. He had rockets to build, and Ed was hurting but he doubted he could ever fully understand Ed's mind. It was enough that he was giving him room and board and letting his delusions slide -

-until he came home to a broken bottle and blood on Ed's hand. “What are you _doing?_ ” He cursed and grabbed the dishrag and pressed it to the cuts over Ed's fingers. “At the very least you could have used the prosthetic,” he grumbled, trying not to sound too mad.

“Sorry,” Ed whispered. “I just – I'm _tired._ ”

Alfons said nothing, wrapping the cloth around Ed's hand and holding it there. “...Why do you stay here, Edward?” he murmured. “You were upset, and I know it's my fault.”

“It – it _isn't,_ I swear -”

“Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. You stay here and every time you look at me it's like you've seen a ghost. So why do you stay here?”  
  
Ed smiled faintly, his face drawn and pale but still lit up with some internal glow. “...You remind me of home.”

* * *

 

~2~

_death_

They shared a bed at home, mostly because they couldn't afford a second one and because it was cheaper than trying to heat the whole flat. It didn't bother him, not really – but sometimes he wondered, watching Ed's back as it rose and fell, if Ed _did._ He was jumping at ghosts a little less now, but he still had that sense to him of being not-quite-there, mind far away in some distant realm of the skies. Or maybe that was just Alfons's love of rocketry showing through.

One night, Alfons's cough – which had been a constant nuisance for almost a year now - didn't stop. First he muffled it in his hand, like he usually did. Then, cursing it mentally, he got to his feet, figuring he'd probably already woken Ed.

He fell. The coughing didn't stop. His lungs started to burn, crying out for air, and he tried to get up at least onto his knees, but it _didn't stop -_

“Alfons? Alfons!” And Ed was by his side, hand on his back, face contorted with worry.

Finally, the fit subsided, and Alfons rolled on his side, too drained to do anything except look up at Ed with a horrible dawning certainty. “What are you...you looking at?”

Ed silently reached forward and wiped away something at Alfon's mouth. It surprised him, how tender Ed could be when he wasn't trying so hard to be unlikable. Then Ed pulled his fingers away and Alfons could see the blood on them.

“...I think I'm dying, Ed,” Alfons said quietly.

“No.” Ed responded so quickly, so bluntly, that it was like he believed he could change the world with his voice. Like some immature, young god. “You're not allowed.”

Alfons couldn't even find an answer to that. His limbs felt like stone, his chest held some toxic fire. Instead, he eased himself slowly upwards, leaning against the bed.

“Tell me one of your stories.”

Ed didn't even bother with his usual rant about _these are not stories, this actually happened._ He just started to talk, and somewhere lost in the hills and valleys of Ed's voice, Alfons slept.

* * *

 

~3~

_shadow_

The name slipped out in the middle of one of their conversations. “-yeah, and Al just kept telling me I was _crazy,_ but hey, he helped me anyway -” He stopped, face turning red.

Alfons wished he felt more surprised. He took a few more steps, then paused, turning to face Ed. “Al?”

“My brother,” Ed whispered, burying his hands in his pockets and staring at the ground.

“What's it short for?”

Ed didn't reply. Alfons swallowed, swallowed again, tried to ignore the crawling feeling of humiliation sitting at his Adam's apple. “His name is Alfons, isn't it?”

“Alphonse. Yeah.” It's pronounced slightly differently, but not enough to make him feel better. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want -”

“Didn't want _what?_ ”

“It's... it's complicated -”

Then the rest of it clicked into place. “I look like him, too, don't I? That's what you meant when you were talking about doubles.”

“Alfons -” Ed reached for him, then his arm dropped and he closed his eyes. “It's not important, okay?”

 _It's important to me,_ Alfons tried to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn't believe it before, when Ed talked about dreams and nightmares and shadows, but now he started to wonder. Maybe they're all shades on a cave wall after all, and Ed's the only one who's real. Maybe that's why he shines so bright.

It was comforting, though, in its way – _because,_ Alfons thought to himself, _if I'm not real, I can't die -_

It was something, at least.

* * *

 

~4~

_life_

It was the middle of the night and Ed was dreaming again. Alfons couldn't imagine how terrifying that must be, to dream of one thing and wake up in another nightmare.

He loved his world. But Ed didn't, and as the weight dropped off and Alfons's ribs started showing, he couldn't help but think longingly about Ed's stories of immortality, of men and women who were brought back from beyond the veil itself, even Al and his soul attached to a suit of armour. They were transgressions upon the realm of God, he knew this, but it was getting harder and harder to pray to Him when there was a living breathing god sleeping next to him. He might be a shadow; if that was true, he might as well worship someone almost too real and too vibrant to exist.

There was a part of him that knew he was getting obsessed. What was the use of having his head in the stars when the chances of him ever getting there were dwindling day by day? And Ed was a man, that was all – a man like any other (except nobody else could ever capture Alfon's mind and heart and soul this way).

It was the middle of the night, and Alfons couldn't help himself. He pressed his forehead against Ed's bare shoulder, willing Ed to give him some of that vitality, to let him live just that little bit longer, or at least be able to spend a few hours without that all-consuming pain between his ribs.

“Alfons?” Ed turns over sleepily. “Are you alright?”

And suddenly it hits him – _he is going to die, and Ed will leave, and one of these things will happen before the other._ “No,” he managed to say, and hoped Ed couldn't see the tears trickling down his face.

“Hey, hey...” Ed grabbed one of his hands, holding it tight. Then, slowly, hesitantly, Ed leant in and kissed away his tears, his other hand stroking Alfon's hair. “I'm here. I'm here.”

 _You are,_ Alfons wanted to say, but instead he kissed him, wanting to taste him – _is this the taste of your world, Ed? The world where the dead rise and souls can be tamed?_ \- and at least for a little while, forget he was mortal.

* * *

 

~5~

_transience_

They were curled up on the couch, and Ed was trying to let him down gently when he asked why he couldn't just stay.

“Home won't ever be here, Alfons. I'm sorry. I'm just – passing through.”

Alfons nodded. He could understand that. What he couldn't understand – with a venom that he didn't even know he had – was why Ed thought he was special.

“So am I,” he responded, suddenly hyperaware of every protruding rib, every patch of sallow skin.

For a moment, Alfons thought Ed would offer to take him along, let him search a new world for a cure. But instead, Ed took his hand, traced each finger, holding him gently but fiercely, like he would never let go.

“I'm sorry,” whispered Ed, and Alfons thought perhaps he meant it.

“It's not your fault.” And for a moment, Alfons saw through the golden guise, finally saw the fear hiding just below the surface. “Don't be afraid.”

“I'm not.”

“Me neither.” And Alfons thought perhaps he meant that, too.

 


End file.
